Mothering Sunday
by WikketKrikket
Summary: It's Mother's Day and Martin and Arthur are both marking the occasion in their own ways- because mums are brilliant. (A Cabin Pressure one-shot)


A/N: I know Mother's Day is practically over, but I was only given the idea for this story this morning and there's only so quickly I can write :P The idea was from my lovely sister Ashtrees, who always comes up with such good things and probably could have written this better herself if she hadn't graciously allowed me to jump in first :) I modelled the Crieff family dynamic here on how it is in her story 'Like Father, Like Son', so if you like seeing them all together here please go check it out :)

**This story is set after series 4 and specifically references Vaduz and Wokingham. **

Obviously, I don't own Cabin Pressure. :)

Mothering Sunday

It wasn't that Carolyn _minded _Arthur being so gung ho about mother's day, she just wished it didn't have to involve her quite so much. When he was a child, it had all been very understated; goodness only knew Gordon wouldn't have helped him sort anything out. No, when Arthur was between the age of three and about twelve the most she received was a hand-made card, gradually improving in proficiency (but not quite as much as one might have hoped) that he had made at school or secretly up in his bedroom. When Arthur reached his teens and was more able to go out on his own or with friends, she began to receive flowers or chocolates, little, ordinary gifts; just little tokens of appreciation. It was all rather nice.

Then came the divorce and Gordon disappeared, and then Arthur was _really _able to get going. He was certainly making up for lost time. Most people, for example, only decorated their houses at Christmas with perhaps a balloon or a banner or two for a birthday. Carolyn's house was decorated at least six times during the year; for her birthday, Arthur's, Easter, Lent, Christmas and, of course, Mother's Day. He would have done it for Valentine's Day too if she hadn't put her foot down. And so she knew that once she was up and dressed she would emerge from her room into her house and it would be covered in goodness-only-knew-what that Arthur had put up secretly during the night, ready for whatever unique merriment Arthur had planned for the day. It was sweet and rather touching, but also a little worrying.

Thankfully, Arthur would be forced to tone things down at least a little this year; MJN had a flight that would take all morning. Even Arthur could only do so much in the few hours until they got home. She got ready and left her room. She wasn't disappointed, there were paper chains hung all across the landing with letters hanging off it at set intervals that spelt out 'Happy Mother's Day' and what appeared to be an incredibly long daisy chain running all the way down the stairs. She dreaded to think what he would have done to the ground floor, or how long it had taken him.

On the other hand, it was rather good. Arthur may have had the aesthetic taste of Elmer the elephant, but there was no-one who would try harder or work longer than her son if he thought he was doing something nice for someone else. That, Carolyn thought, was something she could be immensely proud of, even if Ruth's son, her nephew, had two PhDs and was currently a top barrister in London. Ruth would be lucky to get so much as a phone call today, whereas she, judging by the smoke pouring from the rough direction of the kitchen, was going to be treated to a cooked breakfast- assuming she arrived in time to save it. Carolyn hurried down to the kitchen to do just that, hoping he hadn't ruined her pans too much this time.

Oooooooooooooooo

Douglas prided himself on his ability to arrive every day in that comfortable in-between time somewhere in the middle of _on time _and _late_. He was sure he had done it again today, but when he went into the portacabin, although unlocked, it was empty. Almost empty. Propped up behind Martin's desk were several large pieces of cheap MDF. Of the captain himself, there was no sign.

While Douglas puzzled over this, Carolyn and Arthur arrived. Judging by the pleased look on Arthur's face and the happy-yet-slightly-harangued expression on Carolyn's, this Mothering Sunday had got off to the usual sort of start. Arthur had been known to go somewhat overboard at times. "Good morning." Douglas said. "And how are we this fine Mothering Sunday? All ready to fly our esteemed guest of honour over to Belfast?"

Their clients this time were two sisters who obviously cohabited with Arthur in the _Overdoing Things _category as they had decided that for Mother's Day they would fulfil their mother's lifelong dream by taking her to visit Ireland. They had chosen to fly privately purely so the surprise wouldn't be spoilt on the way; any mention of their destination while on board had been strictly prohibited. Douglas did suggest that they call it _Tipperary _as a disguise and, should the need arise, refer to the real Belfast as _Belfast Belfast_, but Martin hadn't really gone for the idea. Douglas couldn't think why.

"Mm, ready and waiting." Carolyn said. "Wait, where's Martin? What's all this wood doing here?"

"I believe he's providing his replacement." Douglas said. "It'll be just as good at flying the plane and possibly even better at word games."

Carolyn laughed, a sure sign she was in a good mood, and sent Arthur off to look for him. Arthur had barely reached the door however when Martin himself backed through it, carrying two planks of wood, one under each arm.

"Sorry, everyone." He said. "That's the last of it now."

"Yes, but what is it?" Carolyn asked. "And more to the point, why are you filling my office with it?"

"It's a bookcase, or it will be, when I put it together."

"Martin, this office is approximately the same size as the back of your van, where on _earth_-" "It's not for here." Martin said. "I was doing a removals job with Icarus, you know, and I was doing a house clearance, running back and forth to the tip and they had this bookcase- it's new, they never put it together, there's a part missing, but I can rig something up- so they let me have it. I'm going to give it to my mum. It's her mother's day present." He added, unnecessarily, as he finally succeeded in getting the shelves out from under his arms and leaning up against the rest. He took a sheet of folded card out from under them and laid it carefully down on the desk, smoothing down a creased corner.

"Then why bring it in here? Can't you just leave it in your van?"

"I'm sorry, Carolyn, but it's only for a few hours and the van's not very secure. It's already been broken into three times- not that there's ever anything to take. I didn't want the bookcase to get stolen."

"Oh, of course, because it's just what every burglar wants; a pile of scrap MDF with a bit missing."

"It's not scrap, it'll be great once it's put together!" Martin said, getting upset now. "Anyway, I'll stop and buy some flowers too on the way to her house. Now can we please just do the briefing?"

"Hang on." Douglas said. "What's that?"

"What's what?"

"That bit of card."

"It's a card. A Mother's Day card, for my mother." Martin said. "Leave it."

"Where's the envelope?"

"It doesn't need a- Douglas! Douglas, leave it!"

This because Douglas had picked up the card in question and turned it over, revealing the clearly hand-painted vase of flowers on the front, by someone who was mostly inept.

"Well, Martin." He said. "I never knew you were such an artist. I'm sure your mother will be _thrilled_."

"Shut up!" Martin was going red. "It's just a stupid family tradition! We-"

"Oh, no need to explain." Douglas was only just beginning to enjoy himself. "Any parent would be delighted to receive a handmade card from their child. It's so _sweet _of you. Did you make it at school, or was it at cub scouts?"

"Shut up, it's nothing to do with you!" Martin snatched it back, shoving it into a desk drawer. "I'll see you on the plane!" He crossed the office in two strides and left, slamming the door behind him. It was obviously going to be another peaceful flight for MJN Air.

Oooooooooooooooo

Martin had retained a stony silence for the first half hour of the trip and Douglas was getting fed up of it. He waited for Arthur to come in with the coffees- the man was a natural soother of tensions- and then set about clearing the air.

"Martin, I'm sorry I offended you." He offered, knowing the direct approach was often best with his captain; Martin would usually be so pleased just to hear the words that he would forgive him whatever he had done. "But _really_, what did you expect, bringing a handmade card into work?"

"I was hoping you wouldn't see it." Martin said, blushing again but still pointing his chin in an attempt to look authoritative. "I had to bring it, I'm going straight to mum's after this." He paused, seemingly making up his mind about whether to continue. He did. "Look, I know it's stupid, I feel stupid doing it, I _hate _doing it; but twenty-five years ago, on mother's day, my dad took us all down the shop and we bought our Mother's Day cards. And I mean, she was grateful enough, but… she just seemed so disappointed because up until then we'd always made them ourselves and… well, the three of us promised each other that we'd always make them from then on. And, well, I assumed it would have died off by now, but how can I just give her a shop-bought one if Simon and Caitlyn give her ones they've spent ages making?! They always do these really elaborate ones, _especially _Caitlyn, but I mean, she does card making for fun and sells them for charity and things, but it's sort of… it's sort of… a contest, and I _always _lose."

Douglas left a suitable pause.

"Well, no wonder, if a jar of daisies is all you can manage." He said. "They did look a bit sorry for themselves, Martin."

The teasing was gentle and Martin smiled, knowing Douglas was right. Painting, unfortunately, was not among his talents. "Well, it didn't matter so much when we were kids. Mum would never choose her favourite, obviously, but we had dad as sort of an outside adjudicator. I think he just cycled between us. After he died we stopped having an actual winner, but the contest is sort of tradition now."

"I'll be your outside adjudicator!" Arthur volunteered immediately.

"I'm sorry, Arthur, but I think you'd be a bit biased." Martin said.

"I don't mind-" Douglas began.

"No, you'd be biased too."

"No I wouldn't! I'd-"

"-_against _me."

Douglas couldn't help but laugh and Martin joined in, still blushing but seeming more at ease and less awkward than he had before. Douglas really didn't understand what all the fuss was about. True, Martin had to produce a handmade card every year like a child, but surely it was less embarrassing than his brother spin-hugging him in front of everyone. The captain had looked ridiculous so many times this wasn't even on the scale.

"What about you, Douglas?" Arthur asked. "What are you doing for Mother's Day?"

"What? Nothing." Douglas said. "I haven't been much for Mothering Sunday since I was a boy. Anyway, my mother is long gone I'm afraid, twenty years or more since."

"Aww." Arthur looked genuinely troubled. "Oh, you can come join us if you like! I'm taking mum out for dinner tonight to celebrate!"

"No thank you, Arthur, that's fine." Douglas said. "You two have fun. I might call up my brother, see if he wants to go for a drink." He looked at Martin. "I wouldn't call it a _competition _as such, but even we worried about who could get the best card when we were small."

"I bet I can guess who won." Martin muttered.

"Well, yes, I did a few times, but then I thought, give the poor boy a chance; and for the next fifteen years I just put my name on whatever he got and said it was from both of us."

"What a lovely story." Martin was being just a tad sarcastic. "Weren't you just the _kindest _brother?"

"I was when it mattered." Douglas said defensively. "Anyway, it was partly being so close in age; we went through a phase of being awful to each other just so people wouldn't force us together all the time."

"Close in age?" Arthur repeated. "So are you older or younger?"

"Older." Douglas said. "By twelve minutes."

"Twins?!" Martin was so startled he seemed to lean forward on the control column without realising. "There's two of you?!"

"No, there isn't!" Douglas said. "Martin, I know my family situation has shocked you, but do try not to crash the plane!"

Martin realised what he was doing, yelped in surprise, and began to correct their descent. Arthur took the opportunity to join in the conversation.

"So are you the evil twin or is he?"

"What?"

"Well, I just wondered, because on the TV shows and films and things, one of the twins is always evil and, I mean, I think you're brilliant, but sometimes you do things that are a bit sort of, well, not entirely _in _the law, so I just wondered-"

"Oh, do be quiet." Douglas snapped. "Don't you have passengers to see to?"

"Yes, sorry, I just wanted to ask though…" He turned to Martin. "Skipper, would you help me make a card for mum?"

"Huh?" Martin was still pale, clearly rattled by his nearly putting them into a nosedive and wondering why nobody else seemed to care. "You want to make a card? Here?"

"Well, I saw your card and it was really nice and Douglas was sort of saying how much mums liked that kind of thing, so I thought instead of giving her the one I got from Clintons maybe I could, you know, make her one while we're flying."

"Arthur, we don't even have any paper. Well, except the weather report." Martin looked at it, thoughtfully. "Actually, I suppose the sun picture could make quite a nice-"

"_No_!" Douglas was insistent. "Arthur, do you remember your sort-of-a-cake, that you had to bribe officials to smuggle into Helsinki, only to throw it over your aunt?"

"Yeah."

"And do you then also recall the coins Martin attempted to smear chocolate over at Christmas, and you tried to lick the chocolate off and ended up choking?"

"Yeah."

"What these stories have in common, Arthur, is that they were disasters; and what we can learn from this is that attempting to make anything on board Gerti is a very bad idea."

"No, but I was thinking, I could get some of those brightly coloured sweet papers and I could stick them down in a sort of pattern. I've already found something to use instead of glue. Here!" At this stage he triumphantly produced some of the milk cartons from the teas and coffees. "Milk! It's brilliant because when it dries it goes all hard so I thought-"

"No, no, I'm sorry, Arthur, but no." Douglas said. "It wouldn't work and I'm not letting you sit around pouring milk all over the floor."

"But I wouldn't-"

"I'm sure the one you bought is lovely, Arthur." Martin tried to smooth things over. "You don't want to waste it."

"Alright." Arthur sighed. "Can I at least do my other surprise though, Douglas?"

"Oh, yes, alright, hang on." Douglas said, digging in his jacket pocket for his mobile and beginning to scroll through it. "Here we go."

"Brilliant, thanks Douglas!"

"What's going on?" Martin asked.

"Arthur just wants to borrow our intercom for," Douglas consulted his phone. "Approximately four minutes. Will that be okay?"

"Go on then." Martin said, cautious but curious to know where this was going. Happy, Arthur picked up the mouth piece to talk into it.

"Good evening, ladies." He said, brightly. "I hope you're all enjoying your flight to our mystery location today; this is Arthur, and I'm here to remind you that mums are _brilliant_. Especially my mum. Well, I'm sure your mum is good too, and Skipper's mum, and Douglas' mum when she was alive, but, well, they aren't my mum so I don't know. But, well, I wouldn't be here without my mum, and I mean, not just being born and stuff but, I wouldn't actually be here, on this plane, doing the best job ever; and… well, mum, you've been brilliant, so this is a special song for you on Mother's Day."

With just a single eye roll, Douglas pressed play. Behind all the bluster, he was a rather soft-hearted kind of man, and in spite of the fact the song was a rather mediocre 90s ballad, he could understand Arthur's choice of it.

_You're always there for me, even when I was bad_

_You showed me right from wrong_

_And you took up for me_

_When everyone was downing me _

_You always did understand_

_You gave me strength to go on_

About half way through, an embarrassed and aggravated sounding Carolyn summoned Arthur to the galley, but Douglas and Martin could both tell she was probably a little bit pleased. And who could blame her? Allergic to sentiment or not, Carolyn was being complimented on her skills as a mother, and that was no small thing.

Listening to the dim sound of Arthur being berated for being too sappy made Martin feel oddly homesick. He subtly nudged their speed up just a little. The sooner they got there, the sooner he could get back.

Oooooooooooooooo

Wendy Crieff was perfectly content. She always was on the rare occasions where all three of her children were at home at once and they gathered properly as a family. Martin had been the last to arrive, coming straight from a flight, but having taken the time to get changed out of his uniform somewhere along the way. Wendy was pleased to see he had listened to her and realised once was enough in showing off to his brother; and hoped it meant he didn't constantly feel he had to prove himself. She was fiercely proud of him, and that wasn't going to change.

It had been a lovely afternoon. The children had tried to make her the centre of attention, but she never could stand that. She had left them in the lounge catching up and had pottered back and forth to the kitchen making them all a proper Sunday roast, turning down their frequent offers to help. She was glad they had all become such polite, well rounded, independent adults of course; but she didn't think they understood that as their mother sometimes it was quite nice to be taking care of them all again. She'd slipped a few extra roast potatoes onto Martin's plate as her middle child looked like he needed feeding up and made sure that she hadn't served Caitlyn any carrots, knowing how she hated them. It was almost like old times, and she had been perfectly happy to sit and listen to the conversation and the laughter, contributing to the conversation here and there and intervening when Martin started to squabble with his sister or Simon upset one of them by always assuming he knew best. Wendy often thought Simon had a harder time accepting they were grown up than she did; or perhaps it was because Martin and Caitlyn had always been as thick as thieves growing up and Simon had been a bit too old to enjoy their games. Still, Wendy could look around that table and see her children and feel perfectly satisfied that she had made good use of her life- and wouldn't their dad have been _proud_? She had such wonderful children.

The boys had disappeared upstairs to assemble a book case Martin had brought for her, so she and Caitlyn were in the kitchen tackling the washing up. Wendy was listening with one ear to Caitlyn trying to persuade her to buy a dishwasher- but it just seemed such a _waste _when it was only her- and with the other, keeping an ear out for her cue to take tea upstairs and calm things down. Simon took the Try-it-and-see approach to DIY, whereas Martin was very much the kind to carefully plan everything out and make sure whatever he made would last longer than a few days. Either one of them probably could have done it quicker alone, especially Martin, who was very good at that sort of thing. She just hoped he didn't get _too _frustrated with Simon and remembered he was only trying to help.

The sounds of bickering from upstairs reached tea-bringing level and Wendy carefully carried the tray up to her room, where her new bookcase was half assembled and Martin was trying to screw in a shelf and ignore Simon trying to imply he was doing it wrong without actually saying so. Thankfully, they both stopped for tea. Caitlyn came up a moment later to admire the handiwork, and somehow, in a few minutes, they were all perched together on Wendy's bed, sipping their tea. It was a quiet moment. It was a nice moment.

"It'll look great when it's done, mum." Martin said. "Don't worry."

"I'm not, Martin, I think it's lovely, thank you ever so much. But don't worry too much about putting it together, I'm sure-"

"No, no, mummo, we can do it." Simon, at least, was effective at shutting her up. "Between us we'll have it together in a jiffy, right, Martin? It might need a lick of paint though. What do you think?"

Martin looked up in shock and Wendy couldn't entirely blame him. She wasn't sure she had ever heard Simon actually ask for an opinion before either. She smiled to herself and drank her tea. The truth was she had also had a little chat with Simon after Martin's last visit, and it pleased her seeing them both trying so hard to get along.

"Yes, I was thinking the same thing." Martin said.

"As long as you don't paint anymore of those awful flowers." Caitlyn teased, and to Wendy's relief, all the children laughed together.

"Don't be unkind, Caitlyn. I think it was a lovely card, Martin, thank you."

"You're welcome, mum." Martin said, and Wendy knew he was humouring her rather than the other way around. She wondered when he had become so grown up. As proud as she was, she _did _miss when they were all small, and their dad was still there. She knew they knew it too, or they wouldn't have kept bothering to make her cards for her every year. She always felt a little guilty that they went to the trouble, but it was nice to be reminded that whatever else happened, or how old they got, they would always be her children.

Martin's phone started ringing. He checked the caller ID. "It's Theresa." He said. "I'd better answer it."

"Theresa? Who's Theresa?" Caitlyn asked, but Martin had already slipped out of the room. He slipped back in a few moments later, looking furtive.

"Well?" Caitlyn asked.

"Well? Well what?"

"Who's Theresa?" Caitlyn asked again. "Come on, Martin, you've got to tell us if you've got a girlfriend!"

"She's not my girlfriend!" Martin said, going red. Wendy hid a smile.

_So like his father_.

"We've just been out a few times, that's all." Martin said.

"Now, Marty, don't be coy!" Simon said. "Tell us all! How did you meet her? What is she like?"

"I met her on a trip with MJN." Martin said. "And she's… she's nice. She's a nice girl."

"Oh, do a bit better than that!" Caitlyn said. "What does she look like, what does she do?"

"Um…" Martin hesitated. "She doesn't really… you could say she's in politics."

"Ah." Simon clearly felt this was his territory. "Council worker is she? Which section? I might know her."

"No, no, I don't think you will." Martin said. "Politics is probably the wrong word. It's… it's not so much a job as a, a state of being."

"What do you mean, a state of being?" Caitlyn was building up steam to admonish her brother, Wendy thought. Martin must have realised too, because he finally blurted it out.

"I mean she's the princess of Lichtenstein!"

His brother and sister looked at him open mouthed.

"I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to think I was showing off again." Martin said, with a significant look at his mum, who smiled. "But she really is, her little brother is the king and she's the eldest princess of seven. And I, I _really _like her. And I think she might like me too. And I don't know how it could work, not really, but I'm _determined _to find out, because good things don't happen to me often and when they do, I'm going to hold onto them!"

"Just don't mess it up." Caitlyn sniffed, but squeezed his arm encouragingly as Simon reached over to ruffle his hair and congratulate him. The two of them began to interrogate him and poor Martin got a bit flustered, but Wendy left them to it, leaning back and quietly finishing her tea. Really, though, it was nothing they couldn't have figured out for themselves if they'd looked. It didn't take much to work out that Martin had begun to sound happier and happier when he was on the phone sometime after the MJN webpage had been updated to boast they had flown the Royal family of Lichtenstein, and then you found out on Wikipedia that the princess was not only very beautiful but was also about Martin's age and that her hobby was aviation. Wendy had long since made the match in her head; she was pleased and proud that Martin had made it in reality. She was pleased with and proud of all her children. She didn't know how anyone could ask for more; she certainly wouldn't. They had all turned out so well, and they were all with her here, sitting on her bed, talking and arguing together as a family will, spending time with her on Mother's Day.


End file.
